Let's Not Give the Game Away
by afterdalton
Summary: Sebastian with his roots in a lifestyle sexually equivalent to catch and release and Kurt with his wicked desire for commitment have found middle ground in fleshing out a definition without citing the term.


_Inspired by "Please Don't Say You Love Me" by Gabrielle Aplin. _

__Rated for literally_ one_ line of sexual reference - otherwise pretty pg.__

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><p>Sebastian Smythe doesn't do sleepovers. He sure as hell doesn't do mornings after. And yet, there's a man in his bed this morning. Sebastian's own traitorous arms are curled around the torso that, at some point in the night, became his pillow. Sebastian doesn't cuddle. Especially not with Kurt Hummel. And yet, this isn't the first time. Truth be told, it happens so often, it's quite routine.<p>

Ten years ago, there was no version of his life wherein he imagined sharing it with Kurt. There was no telling Kurt's freckles as easily as his voice. No stories told in tandem – competitively because they each tell best. No catalogue of Kurt's favorite things stored in waiting for purpose. No seeing scarves in shop windows, quietly gifting them over, and kissing away expressions begging for explanation. No cheesecake apologies. No mocha runs at midnight or stops at Kurt's studio interrupting work for sometimes an all different sort of all-nighter.

There were always pretty boys in noisy bars, but he'd never known who he was going home with before arriving. Then there was Kurt, a blast from the past who rewrote Sebastian's idealized future.

Now there are Saturday mornings reserved for jogging-turned-racing, letting Kurt get ahead for the sight of skintight fabric clinging to an ass like artwork, playful slaps to the arm when he's caught staring, and the inevitable blush Kurt blames on the wind. There are Smythe family brunches no longer overridden by the topic of Sebastian's unshakable bachelorship because Kurt has followed through on his drunken promise to rock Bas's world. There are expectations and waning fears, bowling alleys and pool halls, mutual friends and aligned vacations. There's a cord on his nightstand not meant for his phone, magazines by his couch he'd sooner burn than read, absurd silk pajamas in his closet though he sleeps in the nude. There are accents all around his home that scream another's name, slowly turning _mine _to _ours._

Somewhere along the way, between mocking Kurt for his manicured fingers and fucking himself upon them, Sebastian has fallen in line to the rhythm of love in reciprocity.

For all the ways he feels Kurt's presence in the moments they're apart, he knows gut deep his own presence lingers with Kurt as well. Knows _"I was just in the neighborhood" _was always a lie, thankfully now a phrase discarded. Knows Kurt listens to the smallest admissions and keeps his own catalogued notations. Knows being first on Kurt's list of "People to Call" is an honor and a privilege not bestowed lightly. Knows his most-worn hoodies disappear in cycles only to reappear in Kurt's closet across town. Knows Kurt hates hummus as much as Bas loves it, but stays fully stocked nonetheless. Knows the rope wrapped around his heart is anchored in Kurt's chest.

They've yet to put a name on things, yet to demand more of one another than what's freely given. Yet to say the word they feel and practice. And yet, it's better this way somehow. The need for labeling is nonexistent. Sebastian with his roots in a lifestyle sexually equivalent to catch and release and Kurt with his wicked desire for commitment have found middle ground in fleshing out a definition without citing the term.

Love has infused itself in every facet of his life, in the give and take of unification and the shifting perception of his own identity. It's adventure and sport reconciling the boy he was and the man who loves Kurt. The rush of falling bursts in fireworks across his skin the same it would were he to name the feeling. Perhaps more so in the playfulness of competitive spirit, in the purposeful showing in avoidance of telling.

Sebastian is willing clay beneath Kurt's nails, hardening with every fiery spat and blistering kiss. They are living art collecting memories to house in a museum called _Kurt and Sebastian_. They're in love, more than they often know how to handle, but it's true enough in evidence. True enough in the receding reluctance to bid final farewell to the boy who'd bitterly resisted settling down. True enough in the tightening of Kurt's grip along Bas's shoulders and the calming rhythm of a heartbeat at his ear. True enough in the warmth that blooms when Sebastian imagines waking this way always.

Sebastian Smythe doesn't do sleepovers, he doesn't cuddle, and he doesn't fall in love. And yet, every morning he's proven false. And though it's poorly kept, his secret is that he's happily creating new boundaries. Happy to love in action and be loved in kind.


End file.
